Was The Letter You Left One Lie Long?
by thesongofyoursoul
Summary: Castiel, one of two Chaplains at Marigold Hospital, had dealt with a variety of people, seeing as how this was a religiously pluralistic environment that also housed many personalities. Then there was Dean, whose blatant sexual advances had rattled him well past his strict Catholic core. Suddenly, Castiel was doubting himself, and the people he'd followed. Chaplain!Castiel AU
1. Chapter 1

_I was in the hospital (not me personally, of course, just as a visitor) a few months ago, and read a brochure about the Chaplains that come to the hospitals to provide religious support for the inhabitants. Of course, my first though was, 'What if Castiel were a Chaplain and Dean came to the hospital when Sam got injured?' and that pretty much started this whole thing._

_ I had this first chapter that I had written all that time ago back in the dusty old computer files, and I liked it, so I thought, 'What the Hell, might as well do it now!' So here you are, folks, a little Chaplain!Castiel AU. _

_Actually, I'm kind of curious, has anyone ever done a Chaplain!Castiel before? I have no idea. Which is sad, considering the number of fics I've read. I should know this..._

_Anyway, any reviews would be awesome, and I will have Chapter two up in three days, possibly two, if there's positive feedback. Thanks for reading this rambling authors note :)_

_Much Love! - Ana_

_**Disclaimer:** I don't own the characters, though I painfully wish I did._

* * *

Castiel yawned as he made his way through the halls of Marigold Hospital. He'd been summoned early since Uriel wasn't here this weekend and couldn't do the early morning callings. The legs of Castiel's black pants ticked at his bare ankles as he turned the last corridor to see the familiar rush of ER faces passing about him. Ruby and Pamela walked out of one of his charges' rooms, giggling. Castiel picked up on their conversation,

"Damn, they were hot!" Pamela smirked unabashedly, and Ruby laughed,

"I would so tap that," she laughed, causing Castiel to roll his eyes. He would have hoped that the two would have more decency than this, especially since they were nurses, for Heaven's sake. Speaking of Heaven's sake, Castiel had a job to do. He eyed the girls, and when they saw him, they shut their mouths abruptly, although Castiel could hear them snorting as they left. With one last glance in their direction,

Castiel turned to his first room, and his long day began.

It wasn't until mid-day that Castiel got to the room. He called it 'The Room' now, due to the 'hoorah' he'd been hearing from the nurses over the past few hours. It had become particularly famous, especially with the women in this section of the hospital. Castiel had the luxury of hearing their over excited giggles off and on during his check ins on the first hand full of his charges.

Needless to say, he was hoping to get the chance to tell this man, who seemed keen on flirting with every woman that walked into the room, to get a hold of his libido. It was too bad that he didn't know the 'Man' flirted in general, not just with women. It was also too bad that the 'Man' didn't give a shit that he was a Chaplain, either, which was another thing Castiel would soon learn. Castiel made his way into the room, looking down at the sheet of paper in his hand that had the patient and his brother's name on it,

"Sam and Dean Winchester, I presume?" he asked, looking up first at Sam, who rested with his bed up slightly so he could see what was going on in the room. He had tubes connected to his arms, and some of them led under the mint blue gown. He offered Castiel a slightly pained smile, and Castiel nodded respectfully back. He then turned to address Sam's older brother. He stopped short, though, when his eyes met Dean's. His gaze skittered down the other man's body, and then back up to green eyes that sparkled with sharp interest.

"Sir," Dean greeted, and Castiel tried to ignore the tingling that danced through his body when he heard the other man's low voice. It reminded him of dark chocolate – smooth, but a bit bitter.

Dean didn't miss a beat, and grinned at Castiel like he had just figured out his preys weakness. It should have been intimidating – Castiel should have felt offended. He didn't, though. In fact, his heart decided it would be a great idea to pound like a loud drum in his chest. He had an internal battle with it, attempting to grasp some sort of control. Luckily, he was a man of restraint, and while he couldn't control what went on inside his body, he was avidly trained at the art of keeping everything inside like Fort Knox. His nerves, for the most part, went unnoticed.

"You must be his older brother...Dean, is it?" His voice had lowered an octave, and while he could feel insides broil in shame at his obvious attraction to this man, he knew the change wasn't quite enough for the two brothers in the room to make note of. However, he didn't miss the almost imperceptible twitch of Dean's ear after he spoke his name. It seemed the interest was mutual. Though Castiel knew there was absolutely no way he would allow himself to act upon it. None what-so-ever.

"Oh, no, he's actually my boyfriend," Dean replied, exchanging his weight from his left to his right foot with an easy nonchalance. Castiel's insides roiled, and unfortunately, Dean caught the flicker of jealousy that flew across his eyes before he regained a hold on himself. The brown eyebrow above Dean's green eyes moved up ever so slightly and Castiel coughed to cover up his desperate search for a response,

"I, uh…that is very strange…because…the, um, papers said you were his…brother.." he tripped over his words dumbly, and had to chastise himself. His awkward reputation really did proceed him, at times.

Dean huffed a laugh, looking down and then back up to Castiel with a huge grin that, were Castiel not a very devout man, would probably have him drooling. Those perfectly white, straight teeth; the attractive little dimples that somehow gave him a rustic kind of cuteness; and little crinkles at the corners of the eyes weaving the tale of a man who wasn't afraid to laugh.

Castiel frowned, disturbed by the direction his thoughts were heading, as well as the fact that he felt like he was about to be on the butt end of a very pointless joke,

Dean laughed, "Hey, man, I was just jokin'," his smile was still wide as he leaned forward to run a placating hand down Castiel's arm, leaving behind a searing path of heat. Castiel didn't look away or try to flinch from the path of the touch. It made his heart race, and he wanted more, but he couldn't give in. He felt like he wasn't in control of his own body, and the thought scared him even more than all those storied about being punished for impure thoughts.

Of course, Dean didn't stop there. Castiel had no doubts that he'd seen Dean's gaze drag all the way down his body. It was so obvious, it might as well have been tangible.

There was some grumbling that probably emanated from a rather annoyed Sam. Castiel didn't take any notice, not with the steam that one could almost see coming from his ears. Castiel had dealt with the obnoxious, the atheists, the misinformed, the snobby, the creepy and the down right rude on more than one occasion. It came with the territory, one that was religiously pluralistic and harbored a large variety of personality types.

However, not once had he been faced with blatantly crude sexual advances. From a man, none the less! This might as well have been the sixth layer of Hell! Castiel was exaggerating the circumstances, of course, but this was far from okay, and definitely not something he knew quite how to deal with. In the end, he decided to use authority.

"My name is not 'Man', Mr. Winchester, it is Chaplain Castiel, and I would greatly appreciate it if you would use it," Castiel got as near to a growl as he could get, voice low, teeth clenched and eyes narrowed threateningly. Dean looked slightly shocked at the change in mood. The shock, however, was replaced with a challenging spark a second later,

"Well, Captain Cas, or whatever," Dean began with his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket as he leaned in to level his eyes with Castiel's calmly, "My name is not Mr. Winchester, it's Dean, and it'd be awesome if you'd used it…which I'm sure you will, under many different circumstances," he glanced down suggestively at Castiel's lips as he bit his own.…_oh, Jesus, those lips. God, why did you give this man such amazing lips…the things I could do with those - No! No, Castiel. This is not right. _Castiel was fuming in a fight to dominate his whirling mind, and he hated himself when he felt his dick twitch underneath his robe and beneath his pants.

He'd been able to control his need since he'd started chaplaincy, he could continue to now. He _could_, but the question was, _would _he? No. He would not give this little demon the satisfaction of winning. He may be hot, but - okay, he was more than hot, he was practically Greek God sexy, only in modern times, and _Mother Mary, he has really long eyelashes. _

Castiel backed away a bit, sighing and straightening out his robe compulsively even though it was pristine and wrinkle free. He really didn't want to spend any more time with Dean's face five inches from his than he absolutely had to. The other man's warm breath just barely caressing his nose and cheek bones was really only making things worse.

"I do not know what a Captain Cas is, but I will call you Mr. Winchester, and you will call me Chaplain Castiel," he said, tone leaving no room for defiance, "Now, Mr. Winchester, I have a few things I must gather to help your…brother, and I expect when I return to be treated with respect."

Of course, Castiel knew he could expect all he wanted, but if the man's previous actions played true to his character, this Dean Winchester wouldn't just give up on something so easily. Dean looked thoughtful, leaving Castiel to shift uncomfortably and stare, unsure of what else to do.

"Okay," Dean shrugged, and crossed his arms. He didn't look away, though, and the absence of any type of repentance or defeat in his eyes proved what Castiel already knew - this little battle was far from over.


	2. Chapter 2

_Hey, guys, here's chapter two :) _

_I also wanted to let you all know, this is a semi-slow moving plot line, and will include crap loads of unresolved sexual tension - at least until the sexual tension is...well, you know, resolved ;)_

_In addition, a reasonable amount of psychological drifting - basically meaning that psychology plays a large role with these characters. _

_Don't worry, though, there is humor, I pinky promise. And there will definitely be some sexy times later on. Anyway, enjoy, and if you leave a review - well, for one, that brings more readers, and it also makes me terribly happy. _

_A **big** thanks to my beta, Lee, who is going to be reading over my chapters from now on, catching all those stupid little mistakes that I miss - she's an angel :)_

_Enjoy!_

_Much Love! - Ana_

_**Disclaimer:** I do not own these characters._

* * *

Castiel huffed in spite of himself, and left the room in considerable haste. He really did need to grab his rosary from the hospital's chapel, though the prospect of getting away from all this for a few moments definitely didn't make the trip any worse. He heard the brothers begin to speak just as he passed the door frame. Unfortunately, they did so in a manner that made it obvious they didn't know they could be heard pretty much all the way down the hall.

Dean hummed, "Damn, I like 'em demanding," he said, and Sam made a kind of noise that was similar to a growl.

"Dean, he's a Chaplain, and a Catholic one, at that, you can't make a toy out of him, he won't let you," he warned. Castiel felt his appreciation for the younger brother swelling. At least he knew where he stood.

"Sam, do you honestly think all I want is sex? I'm hurt!" he played the obviously fake indignant card, and Castiel fought the urge to punch the wall, if only to remind Dean that he could still hear him. This man was simply infuriating.

"Very cute," Sam shot back sarcastically, and Dean laughed.

Castiel tried to stop himself from envisioning what Dean looked like at that very moment - the teeth, the eyes, the cheeks. The hands -_ Stop. _And that really nice butt. _NO, Castiel, Stop it right now! _It took him a moment, and a couple of close calls. He almost stumbled into the nurses that were rushing about, but he finally got his mind back in the right place, luckily, before his friend down south caught up.

He really didn't need any more fire added to _that _flame. He'd had about as much of Dean for one day that he needed. It was for this reason that he took an extra minute in the Chapel to beg God to forgive him in advance, fearing lest Dean should attempt to provoke him again, he may snap one of two ways. Neither of which would be considered okay, and one he was fairly sure he wouldn't be able to forgive _himself_ for. It was times like these that he truly questioned his choice to become a Chaplain.

Actually, this was the first time he really had.

Castiel loved people. Each person he met he struggled to understand, and once he did, he knew he'd never forget them. He wanted to give people hope, even if it was false hope. He wanted people to feel that press of assurance - God had a plan, and whether it led to Heaven, or stayed here, they were in good hands.

Castiel shivered. Dean was something he could handle, but uncertainty was not. He'd rather break all his values and ideals than completely lose who he was. Then again, other than a Chaplain, what exactly was Castiel? He hadn't spoken to his brother in years. Uriel was nothing more than fellow chaplain, and they, in fact butted heads far too often for Castiel to consider him a friend. He'd always chided to himself that God was his friend. God was his family. God was all he needed, and honestly, Castiel believed it.

You reap what you sow, as the saying goes, and right now Castiel was feeling that seed cracking something open in a place that was considerably more tender than any real organ. Tiny pricks of emotions he'd worked so hard to pent up behind a sturdy wall began to seep in. He really didn't need this at the moment, but there wasn't exactly anything he could do about it right now, other than mask it as best he could. The bandage would only hold for so long, but God willing, it would get him through the rest of the day until he got home.

_Take a breath; _it took three tries before he felt that satisfied feeling of successfully filling and releasing all of the oxygen in his chest. By then, he had steeled himself for whatever the rest of the day would bring.

Really, it couldn't get any more awful, could it?

Castiel wished he could banish that thought the moment it cropped up into his mind. He was a man of faith and a man of God. However, he was also a firm believer in luck, and now he had the horrible feeling he was headed for a fortune that wouldn't be easily divorced. If at all, that is.

Castiel's knees were beginning to tingle, and he finally picked up on the fact that he hadn't moved from his kneeling position in front of the alter for the past ten minutes. He cracked his neck The noise of popping bones cut through the dead silence like a knife and shocked his ears in a way that can only follow an extended lack of sound.

He winced as he pushed himself up off the ground, feeling little needles rippling all over his lower legs and knees.

_I am getting too old for this_, he mused. He'd been telling himself that ever since he turned twenty, though, so it didn't pack as much of a proverbial punch as it did mere comic relief from his constant contact with death and illness.

Castiel wondered, idly, how bad his knees would be by the time he was fifty. Or sixty. The thought, though, brought up something wildly more perplexing. Where did he plan - no, plan wasn't the correct word - want - where did he _want_ to be when he was fifty or sixty?

There was an aching in his chest, and he ruefully glanced up at the hand carved wooden alter. For some disturbingly ineffable reason, he knew he wouldn't want to still be here. The idea of growing old around this bleakness would make even the most righteous bend from its morbidity.

As for the thought of dying like this? Castiel shook his head, denying that thought the right to further access. He needed to refrain from thinking so intensely, or it would mold him into a hapless ball of self pity and self loathing, and all things that had to do with the self, which wasn't who he was here for.

He was not Castiel who wore holiday socks because he couldn't resist the temptation when he spotted them in the sale bin at the store. He was not Castiel who had a pet rabbit that he kept, even though it was against his apartment complex's policy. He was not the Castiel that sometimes enjoyed watching How I Met Your Mother while eating uncooked ramen noodles because he loathed the way popcorn always got stuck in his teeth.

No, the moment he walked into the hospital building, he was Chaplain Castiel - rock hard, no nonsense, straight to the facts and sensitive only when faced with the misfortune of others. That was the role he played here. It was, in its own way, a kind of ploy. He got a sort of selfish satisfaction out of being selfless.

Although, there were times when those lines blurred and disappeared, and his real self - the one behind the mask - got to touch the fighting spirit of the ill. It was like finally feeling the sun after having hid away in a deep, cold and empty well. Is was moments like those that almost made Castiel's job worth it.

Almost.

One can only handle so much death. You can make light of it; you can even marvel in its wonders. Most people, however, are frightened by the mere idea. Castiel, he feared death like one does the teeth of a lion, knowing if it were right in front of him, he'd be petrified, but seeing as how it was not nearby, it clearly wasn't really a problem that adjures contemplation.

Not to say it wouldn't jump out at any single moment, and just like that, he'd be dead, but it was unlikely. That was what had Castiel so unsettled, though. Being here was like working at the zoo, in this sense. He felt that death was clinging ever closer, and it wouldn't hesitate to bite the hand that fed it.

There was something that was of paramount that Castiel felt, but could never really understand. Until now, that was.

Castiel fisted his hands. Why now? What had instigated this epiphany, he wondered. He knew the answer, he just didn't like it. He didn't like it at all.


	3. Chapter 3

_We're at chapter three, folks :) _

_I have to bow to these characters, they've really taken a mind of their own, which makes writing a lot easier. _

_Thank you so much to the new followers and favorites - it's great to have you on this little journey with me :D_

_And to the reviewers - A great big thank you to you, it's a joy to hear positive things about my stories. So a big hug to you all!_

_As always, all reviews make my heart skip a beat (in the best way possible) :) _

_A big hug for my beta Lee - timebombteam on tumblr - she is amazing :D_

_Enjoy the chapter!_

_Much Love! - Ana_

_**Disclaimer:** I do not own these characters. _

* * *

If Sam weren't rendered immobile right now, he'd be beating the crap out of his brother. Being as it was, he had to settle for flinging a few four letter words in the direction he heard Dean's voice, as well as making numerous failed attempts at potent remarks that were deflected easily by his older brother.

It had been about ten minutes since the Chaplain left, and Sam got the bitter feeling that he was stalling for as long as he could. It made sense, considering the way Dean had been advancing on him as though the fact that he was a man - and of even more importance, a Chaplain, for God's sake - like it wasn't even pertinent. Sam wasn't sure what it was exactly that made Dean ignore the principles of morality. It was one thing to flirt with the nurses that filtered in and out of the room, leaving them rosy cheeked and giggling, but it was an entirely different business with someone who not only had no desire for Dean, but couldn't act on it, even if he did.

Dean always had a complex with flirting; more like an addiction, maybe. Sam wasn't sure what had caused it, or why Dean always refused to acknowledge it. The problem was, while Dean had the charm, and the looks, and the wit - when it came to anything more than a one night stand, he elevated a solid brick wall and pulled back like something were about to bite him.

In hindsight, it made sense. Dean was a very deep person with emotions and experiences that even Sam didn't quite grasp, at times. There was something in Dean's eyes when he wasn't out in public that made him seem like he was twenty years older than he really was. Something Sam had been picking at for years only to be swatted away by a glare and an 'I'm fine' that oozed with subtext pointing to the exact opposite.

Sam strained to pull his head up enough to look at Dean. He felt at such a disadvantage - banter wise - not being able to stare Dean down. If he couldn't use his fists, then he wanted to at least pulverize him with a nice edgy glare. This was all kind of Dean's fault, anyway, that he was here with a broken arm and a torn ligament. Dean had called him when he was on the way to the grocery store last night to ask for - lo and behold - pie. Of course, in the process of fumbling for the cell phone, Sam had neglected to focus on his driving, and ran off the road, crashing into a tree.

It was a good thing he had only been going twenty five miles per hour, or it probably would've ended up much worse than this. He would never forget Dean's face as he was rushed to the hospital, though. He looked so terrified - Sam was afraid he'd lost a leg, or something, and not even noticed. Luckily, on the trip to the hospital in the ambulance, the EMT had briefed him on his condition; other than the physical injuries, he'd had a mild concussion, and that was it.

Right after he found out his own condition, he'd fixed Dean with a record winning glare, and slurred out the first thing that came to mind, "You're paying for my car, jerk."

That had made Dean smile, though there had still been an undercurrent of fear wafting from him.

Now, however, Dean had completely sprung back to his peppy, sarcastic, flirty self. Sam was a little more comfortable with this Dean, though it was really only the lesser of two evils.

He was about to remind his brother to call the tow company when the Chaplain returned, looking a bit more high strung than he had before he left. Sam wasn't surprised. Poor guy was probably going to end up with an aneurysm by the end of the day.

Dean reappeared in his field of vision, swiveling on his heels to meet Castiel with a saucy smile. Castiel paused for a moment, then shook his head, turning his attentions to Sam.

Sam did an internal cheer for the dark haired male. That was one of Dean's signature entrance moves, and he had deflected it without batting an eyelid. Castiel, one, Dean, zero.

Castiel smiled lightly at Sam, though it didn't reach his eyes,

"Mister Winchester, before I-"

"Please, call me Sam, Chaplain," he insisted. Castiel hesitated, and Sam realized the way he had said that made it sound like a come-on. So, to spare the Chaplain some unnecessary distress, he added, "I'm, uh, not very comfortable being called anything else." He smiled awkwardly, and Castiel looked relieved.

"Well, then, Sam, before I begin, I would like to inquire as to what your religious denomination is." He folded his arms in front of his stomach in a manner that could only be called Zen-like, ignorant to the fact that Dean had wandered up right behind him. Sam frowned, and was about to warn him when Dean leaned in a bit closer,

"We're not really…church people," he spoke smoothly a few inches from Castiel ear, causing the Chaplain to go visibly rigid. Sam cringed at how very not subtle Dean was being. It was bad enough when they hung out, but now he was stuck with flirty Mc. Flirt monster until he got out of this place.

Sam's attention was drawn back to Castiel when he closed his eyes, nose flaring in what Sam interpreted as suppressed anger.

"I believe I gathered as much from you, Mister Dean Winchester. However, it was not to you whom I was speaking."

Castiel, two, Dean, zero.

Dean smiled, sending Sam a look over Castiel's shoulder that said 'can you believe this guy?'

Sam sighed, and ignored it, "We don't follow a religion; our parents were never the church going type," he explained, and focused on Castiel's face so he wouldn't have to bare witness to whatever the heck Dean did next back there. Man, that sounded kind of wrong.

Castiel nodded, and forced another smile; he was still obviously uncomfortable with Dean's proximity. Sam wasn't sure why he didn't just tell him to move back, it's not like his older brother wouldn't if Castiel asked. Maybe he didn't want to give Dean that satisfaction - who knows?

"Well, then, I will just perform the general prayer and be on my way, if that sounds satisfactory," he spoke evenly, which, kudos to that, considering the fact that he still had one very oppressive Dean hovering right behind him.

Sam just nodded in response, and pulled the sheets of the hospital bed up to get a little more settled in.

Or, at least, he was until his settling was interrupted by a yelp from Castiel, very nearly giving Sam a heart attack. His head snapped to his right to see what the Hell had just happened.

Dean was waltzing (too) casually away from Castiel, who was rubbing his butt and looking a little pink in the face,

"Did you just feel me up, Mister Winchester?" It wasn't a question, though, and while his voice had started out on a commanding note, it had ended much nearer to the flustered side of the spectrum.

Dean smiled cheekily, "Don't get too full of yourself, Capt'n, that was just a little goose." He made little crab hands in Castiel's direction. Castiel huffed crossly, and turned to take a seat on the far side of the room.

"I told you my title was Chaplain," he mumbled.

"And I told ya ta call me Dean, so you can stop huffin' and puffin' like the big bad wolf," Dean shot back with a smug smile that disclosed pretty much all the sarcasm he'd excluded in his actual words.

Castiel ignored the comment completely and sat up straight in the wooden chair, bowing his head and closing his eyes as he gripped the bottom of the necklace that hung around his neck.

His features settled into something inexplicably serene, despite the fact that he was neither smiling nor frowning. It was almost like an aura, more than anything else, and judging by Dean's silence, Sam wasn't the only one to have caught the change.

Dean moved, the shifting of his clothing drawing Sam's attention away from the Chaplain. It was strange - for a second, he could have sworn Dean looked completely enamored. Like, Disney princess kind of enamored, which was just so uncharacteristic of his older brother that he felt a bit uncomfortable.

Dean sat down in the chair next to Castiel and…just watched. He didn't try anything, he didn't make any faces, he didn't look away, he didn't even move for the next three minutes.

Sam was starting to feel awkwardly like the third wheel here.

When Castiel was done praying, he turned his head to the left - he must have heard Dean sit down. The first thing the Chaplain's eyes met when they opened was Dean.

It got even more unsettling for Sam, though. Dean didn't make any kind of smart remark - no flirting of any kind - no, he just stared right back at the man, almost as though they were having some heartfelt communication in their minds.

Castiel broke the romance novel vibe, though, by tilting his head to the side slightly, and pointing to Dean's head,

"You have lint in your hair, Mr. Winchester." He spoke quietly, like he thought Dean may be embarrassed if people overheard. Sam had to try really hard not to explode with laughter. It actually hurt, he was trying so hard.

"Now, if you both will excuse me, I have some other business I must attend to," Castiel said at a normal volume, standing up with the hushed fluttering of robes. Sam was hiding his face in his elbow, laughter still threatening to erupt at any second, and yet, he somehow managed to wave a casual hand in goodbye. Castiel bowed slightly to both of them, before leaving the room quicker than what was necessary.

When Sam was certain the Chaplain was out of earshot, he broke out in open mouthed laughter, shaking the entire bed. Dean was still frozen in the same place - unmoved in shock.

"Oh my God, dude, you got completely cock-blocked!" Sam worked out between bouts of laughter.

Dean ignored Sam's mocking words and deflated in his chair, slumping forward and - wow, this was definitely a first -_ pouting_,

"I thought we were having a moment…" the genuine disappointment in his voice only added to the hilarity of the whole situation,

"Apparently not." Sam wiped a couple tears from his eyes as he finally came down from his high, breathing heavier.

"Dude, he totally owned you!" Sam exclaimed, still smiling widely. It was about time someone gave Dean a piece of his own medicine. Dean glared,

"Shut up, you still owe me a pie," he barked indignantly, giving Sam the most abrasive stink-eye ever. Sam snorted,

"You still owe me a car," he countered.

"Bitch."

"Jerk."

Somewhere along the line they both forgot what Castiel had said.

There really wasn't a single spec of lint in Dean's hair, though only Castiel knew that, and it would be another six months before Dean would even hear of it. The truth was, Castiel actually did share a moment with Dean. But for some reason, in that five second frame of time, he couldn't find it in himself to share that feeling.

A feeling that was of such paramount.

The question of what it was, though, left Castiel at a complete loss.


	4. Chapter 4

_I have two long fics going right now - one for next year's big bang, and this little one here :)_

_ Luckily, since I still have months to finish the other one, this one here should be updated quite often - although I'll have to take it chapter by chapter on exact update...well...dates. The next chapter should be up in the next few days. _

_Anyways, to the comment about having our two little doves watching HIMYM (How I Met Your Mother) together, there will definitely be that in future chapters to look forward to, because domestic scenes are too adorable to resist. And plus, we all know they'd be hilariously awkward at times. _

_I hope you enjoy the chapter (honestly, I'm not too sure what you all see in this story at all, but I'll keep writing as long as you all keep reading :'D) _

_Thank you for reading this far!_

_Much Love, Ana_

_**Disclaimer:** If I owned the characters, my life would be complete, but I digress, I do not own them. _

* * *

Dean tossed the empty bag of Cheetos into the tiny trash can by the vending machine, licking his fingers of the cheese as he did so. Sam would be released from the hospital tomorrow morning, as long as nothing went wrong. He was going to be on crutches for a while, though, and Dean actually did feel really guilty about it. Though he played it off as nothing since he knew it made Sam uncomfortable when he moped.

There was another issue at hand, though, one that made Dean's heart skip a frantic beat every time he had to remind himself of it. He wasn't sure where in the _Hell_ he was going to get the money for the hospital bill. Figure in the car insurance _and_ the expenses of getting Sam's car fixed, this whole escapade was bound to ring up nauseatingly high.

Dean moved onto his other hand, worrying the crumb infested digit between his teeth - at least until he caught movement from the corner of his eye. He turned his head, and took in the sight of the Chaplain - yes, Dean knew how to say it, it was just all too entertaining to annoy and confuse this guy - frozen mid-step, staring at him. Dean smirked around his finger before pulling it out with a tiny pop.

As if he had just realized he'd been staring, the Chaplain blinked, and he spun on his heel, heading for the waiting area.

_Uh-uh, not happening. _Dean moved swiftly and caught the man by the elbow just as they rounded the corner.

Castiel went still, neither trying to pull away, nor turn around. The TV was on a few feet away from them, but the waiting room was utterly destitute.

So, Dean did the first thing he thought of; he pushed the man against the wall, trapping him between sturdy arms on either side of Castiel's head. The Chaplain gave Dean a dithered look, then once again put up that integument, stoic and unfeeling. Dean wanted to growl, but he went for something a little smoother, leaning onto his elbows, and in turn greatly reducing the space between them.

"Where do ya think you're goin?" he asked, voice silky.

Castiel, who was plastered against the wall, glanced down at Dean's lips, but his face offered no reaction, "I am going to do my work Mr. Winchester." His voice cracked, and Dean's smile twitched skywards.

"Ya see, that's where you're wrong," he started, tilting his head and tracing the side of Castiel's neck with one finger. Castiel gulped, his cerulean eyes flashing with a mixture of fear and arousal, "You're not goin anywhere," He leaned into Castiel's neck, breathing in the scent of citrus shampoo and vanilla, "Cas," he whispered the chosen pet name right into the Chaplain's ear.

His trap-ee let out a long, shuddering breath, and for a miraculous second his body melted into Dean's. But as quickly as it had happened, it was over, and Castiel went right back to crushing himself as close to the wall as humanly possible. Damn it, this was really frustrating.

"Mister Winchester," he hissed, disgraced, though it sounded pathetically close to a plead, "If someone sees us in such a compromising position, I'll-" Dean shushed him with a single finger to the Chaplain's chapped lips. Stormy blue eyes flickered down to Dean's finger before long, dark eyelashes whisked along for the ride back up to Dean's face.

Dean still couldn't get a good read on the guy, but he could at least tell that he was a lot closer to getting what he wanted than he had been before. It was obvious in the fact that Castiel was not fighting him, and definitely didn't act disgusted. He seemed almost painfully conflicted, Dean noticed, and that did make him feel a little bad about the whole come-on, but he was like a truck going downhill without breaks - there was no stopping now.

"No one 's gonna see us," he whispered slow and allaying. Of course, he had no clue whether or not someone was going to appear, but he was excellent at convincing people to believe what he said. There was an announcer on the television, jabbering about some speech they were covering, but it all became white noise when Castiel's eyes fluttered shut. It was an unspoken sign - the Chaplain was giving him an opening. Dean felt a thrill run up his spine, and he leaned forward slowly, his own eyelashes sinking down on the journey.

Then, out of absolutely nowhere, Castiel shoved Dean forcibly away, sending him tumbling backwards. He only barely managing to catch himself before he fell. Dean watched in open mouthed shock as Castiel strided purposefully away. He was about to ask what the fuck that was about when he realized the Chaplain wasn't leaving the waiting area; but rather making his way over to the TV screen before hunching over in front of it in a manner that looked worlds away from how statuesque he'd been since Dean had met him.

"What the fuck," Dean muttered under his breath, confused in addition to a little indignant. He didn't know this man very well, but he didn't come across as the hunching type of guy. Dean could only see the back of his head, but he could tell the Chaplain was staring at the screen. Dean glanced at it, still lost. There was a man, probably about thirty, standing behind a podium. He had a bit of a beard and side burn thing going on - just enough hair that you couldn't really make out what his jaw shape was; he had dark, almost raven black hair, and brooding, near black eyes. He wore a perpetual frown that made him look even older and he was clothed in robes that were sewn with intricate designs and dyed in deep, rich colors. A priest. Castiel had ditched him for some random priest? Maybe it was a religious thing - like how celebrities had fans; only this was famous televangelists and their catholic fans? Dean still felt like he was missing something, so he tuned into the deep voice on the television, hoping to find a clue there,

"Homosexuality, my flock, is the most abhorrent of all sinuous activities - you must repent or burn." Dean cringed in disgust. He already didn't like this fancy cloak guy.

"We must rid the world of these evils - even if that means disowning - because these are the demons that have come to destroy our world and tempt to drag us into the vile, billowing depths of sin." Dean moved to sit on the arm of the nearest couch, feeling an angry heat build up in his face and chest. Right winged Christian was a massive understatement for this guy.

"It's hard to come to grasps when someone you care for has sucumbed to the temptation," Dean crossed his arms, dull nails biting into the skin of his biceps.

"I, too, have dealt with such an experience - I lost my own brother to the Devil's plot." The pain crept too slowly across his features, as though he were making an extra effort to show it. Damn it, this man was oily as all Hell. Dean needed to say something before he drew blood from his own arm.

He glanced at the back of Castiel's head. He hadn't moved at all. Dean furrowed his brow, standing up and taking two steps to plop down beside Castiel on the rough Hospital carpeting. The man on the screen was looking out over the crowd for a powerful pause, and Dean took the moment to speak,

"He must be a real slippery bastard to jus' sell out his brother like that." He didn't get a response. In fact, a glance in that direction revealed that Castiel was either ignoring Dean completely, or didn't even hear him - Castiel's lips were set in a thin line. Dean looked lower, noticing the white of the Chaplain's knuckles where he was gripping his knees.

_What the Hell is wrong?_ If this were anyone else, Dean would have been creeped out, but for some reason the only thing that had been conjured in the pit of his stomach was concern.

"My brother will never be clean again, his purity is long gone, but he repented, and he will rise after his death to the kingdom of Heaven. However, once touched by such evil, the temptation grows stronger, and the man who fell once can not be trusted to decline its entry again without the helping hand of faith." Dean shook his head as the televangelist droned on in a rough, demanding voice. He had the kind of voice people listened to, and were Dean not educated in the ways of the world outside of religion, he would almost be tempted to listen.

"My brother betrayed God, my family, and myself, and I have forgiven him. He has become a man of faith - and is now a religious leader of sorts himself - his story is a success story, but his sins still will not go unpunished," Dean looked over to Castiel again. There was something about the slant of his nose...Dean looked back to the screen. Then returned to Castiel once more.

_Wait...is he..._

"Chaplain, 's that your brother?" He used Castiel's requested title for the first time, but Castiel didn't answer yet again, which Dean realized was probably a yes. He felt a flood of emotions slamming into him all at once; Empathy, anger, sadness, understanding - and while most of them were directed at this slick loser on the screen, part of it was pointed back at himself for the way he'd been shoving himself onto Castiel. He felt like such a huge prick right now.

Dean couldn't even comprehend what it would be like to have his brother completely renounce him like that. Then to turn around and speak to a crowd of people about him like he was an abomination, Dean would have been reduced to little more than broken pieces of himself. He would have been livid, yes, but more than anything he'd be utterly crushed. Family was family, and even if you didn't see eye to eye, at the end of the day, you still wanted what was best for them. You weren't supposed to treat them like something less than human - something that you didn't want to touch with a ten foot pole.

Dean honestly just didn't understand it. He put a hand on Castiel's shoulder,

"Chaplain, I-" Castiel flinched, and his head spun around to Dean, mouth open like he'd only just realized Dean was even there. His eyes locked with Dean's for a second, then drifted as though he could see right through his body. Okay, now Dean was really worried.

Then, as suddenly as the Chaplain had shoved Dean away earlier, he stood, robes fluttering. Dean looked up, getting a momentary view of the underside of Castiel's chin before he was flying out of the waiting room. Dean reached out for him, lips parted into the beginnings of...what? What the Hell could Dean say to that? He couldn't exactly just say everything was all right; or I know how it feels, because he sure as Hell didn't.

He decided, though, that he wanted to clean this slate he'd managed to screw over. Even if that was the last he saw of Castiel.

For some inscrutable reason, Dean really wished it wouldn't be.

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	5. Chapter 5

_So, our poor little doves are still having a hard time actually coming to truce this chapter. Hopefully, though, that problem will be resolved next chapter. Actually, I'm fairly sure it will be :) _

_Speaking of next chapter - it should be out in another three or four days, as long as everything goes well. _

_There is a Mark Twain quote in this chater, too. It really applied well to the whole situation, so I couldn't resist. Plus, it makes a good point, and what is the purpose of a story if you don't actually have to think about the characters?_

_Speaking of characters! _

_**Disclaimer:** I do not own these lovely characters. _

_Also, in the spirit of my swiftly approaching junior year, I have been forming an idea for a school - most likely a college related Destiel story. So, that's currently in the midsts of being conjured, though this story won't be taking the back burner in the slightest. _

_Enjoy, and thanks to all of the reviewers, followers, favorite-ers and readers :) I am thankful for each and every one of you!_

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Dean sat there for another moment, going over and over in his head with what just happened. Regrouping his thoughts was proving to be a hard task with that little shit prattling on about how the malevolence in the world was rooted in homosexuality. Seriously, this ass hat was so fucking misguided, Dean was actually kind of scared the guy might try to justify killing people. Which, no, that was really not okay, and he really needed to turn that fucking TV off. Before he broke something.

Instead of damaging hospital property, Dean jammed his thumb into the power button. There was a residual painful tingling from the force. He stared at the black screen, flipping through all the lists of phrases, terms and words he could comfort someone with. Unfortunately, he wasn't the coddling type, so his helpfulness in this situation was vastly restricted.

Dean scraped dull fingernails against the carpeting, a habit that came from thinking too hard. When he finally had his best choices lined up, he stood, moving quickly back to the tiled hallway and away from the beige, empty waiting room. He stopped, though, when he realized he had no idea where Castiel had run off to. His mind was always doing that, missing crucial details. He caught one of the nearby nurses, a hand her shoulder next to blonde hair. The girl turned, and gave him a big grin, looking akin to a fan chosen from a crowded audience. He was flattered, really, but now was neither the time nor the place,

"Sorry, sweetheart, it's not like that, I just wanna know if you saw where the Chaplain went." She looked a little disappointed, then disgruntled before she jerked her finger behind her, pointing down the hallway Dean was facing. Dean nodded, ignoring her little huff as he swung to and fro around the many scrub clad medical professionals and distraught visitors. He stopped at a distinct wooden door at the end of the hall. The sign above it read that it was the Church's in-building chapel. His features contorted into something hopelessly confused, wondering why the Chaplain had come here.

Unless, of course, he was here because of Dean. Which was really fucked up, because the Chaplain hadn't done anything, Dean had forced himself on him. Dean's stomach churned, lips curling down and in. He really had let it get too far, hadn't he? Great, now he was disgusted with himself, which considering how he'd ended up here in the first place, was only adding salt to an already gaping wound.

The verdict was clear - he had to apologize. Which he didn't enjoy doing, but he wasn't a child, he knew apologizing was well worth the small amount of shame it inflicted. Even if Castiel still hated his guts.

He turned the knob slowly, quickly shuffling in and turning around to silently shut it, save the click near the end.

He glanced over his shoulder, making sure Castiel was there. He was. Or, at least, he was fairly sure there was a human under that lump of black clothing. The lump didn't shift, though. Didn't twitch. It was as still as the room was quiet.

Dean spun slowly on the ball of his foot, shoving his hands self consciously into his pockets. It felt weird being in here - like the room could read the entirety of his life and fling back every last misgiving. It made him want to shrink away, but he didn't. There were a few short benches that led up to the altar, and Dean swiftly moved into the nearest one, leaning back into the wood without even a sigh. The Castiel lump still didn't move, and Dean scratched his nose, trying to remember what he'd planned to say. His mind had gone blank the moment he'd stepped in the room, though, so he'd have to wing it.

"You-uh...you didn't do anything wrong, I was just being a pri-I mean, an arse hole," he spoke softly, unwilling to break the spell of reticence. Yet.

Castiel finally shifted, but didn't make any move to look at Dean, "It is not you or I for which I am praying, Mister Winchester." His voice was carefully monotonous.

Dean was lost again, "Then who-"

"My brother. I am praying for my brother, if you must know." Dean's hackles rose - but not because Castiel had interrupted him,

"Why the Hel-heck would you pray for that douch - I mean - piece of crap?" He'd leaned forward, hands gripping the back of the bench in front of him.

Castiel finally turned to him, his face guarded to reveal absolutely nothing, "'But who prays for Satan? Who, in eighteen centuries, has had the common humanity to pray for the one sinner that needed it the most?'" He quoted calmly. Dean had no idea what the quote was from, but he grasped the meaning easily, possibly because he could relate.

He didn't break eye contact with the Chaplain, "So you agree he's an asshole?" Dean couldn't help it, the profanity had slipped out of habit. He didn't really care anymore, though, as long as Castiel continued to face him so he didn't feel so eerily alone.

Castiel shook his head, "No, he is merely confused, he is not a lost cause, he just needs to be reminded-"

"Confused? He didn't seem very confused, if ya ask me. I hate to say it, but it sounds a lot more like you're tryin' to convince yourself," Dean interrupted this time, realizing only after he'd spoken that it hadn't been the best thing to say. Castiel stared at him, making him stir nervously under the strident nature of the gaze.

"Have you made it your agenda to throw my life into turmoil?" he asked bluntly.

Dean's posture matched the guilt that was still clawing at his insides.

"You haven't really given me the chance to apologize." The weight of his own words made his shoulders turn into his body even more.

Castiel looked a little surprised, but went predictably flat line once again, "I've already forgiven you, Dean."

Dean furrowed his brow and leaned back indignantly like the response had been a literal slap to the face. What was this guy? "Ya shouldn't. You should be pissed off at me. You should tell me to fuck off, or somethin', but you're not…Why?" Dean was partially bewildered and partially outraged. Castiel should be hateful to him. Dean _needed _Castiel to be hateful.

In the seconds he was lost to his thoughts, it hadn't registered that Castiel had moved. At least not until he found himself in a practiced hold, head and back ringing in pain from where he'd been shoved into the seat of the bench. He opened up the eyes he hadn't known he'd closed, his gaze traveling up the black robed arm to where Castiel was standing over him, nostrils flaring and lips tensed.

Blue eyes flashed with fury when Dean's met his, "Just because I forgave you does not mean you don't make me angry," he growled. His grip on Dean's shirt tightened, constricting his arms uncomfortably, "So I suggest you leave now before I find someone else who can take care of your attitude. Someone who does not have any holy obligations." He actually sounded dangerous, and way too much like he intended to go through with those plans if Dean didn't do what he requested.

"Do you understand?" Castiel lurched in closer, eyes wide and breath hot. Dean flinched back, which failed because that pressed the forming bruise on the back of his head into the hardwood painfully hard. The aching prompted his head nod of its own pitiful accord.

After giving him one last measured glare, Castiel shoved himself out of Dean's space and flew away, the dancing sound of his robes the only indication that he was leaving until the door slammed behind him.

Dean assessed the ceiling as though an angel would gift him with an explanation - or even a clue - as to what the Hell just happened and what he was supposed to do now. Of course, he could afforded no such divine intervention, but his cell phone vibrated in his pocket and he pulled it out to see he'd received a text message from Sam.

_Where are you, Jerk!_

Dean had a brief amusing vision of Sam trying to text with one hand.

He pushed himself up into a sitting position, concentrating on replying and not on how suffocating the room had become in the wake of Castiel's absence.

_I'm coming, you whiny little bitch!_

He stood up, and against better judgment, looked over to the altar. The carved face of a woman peered back at him knowingly. His breath tripped past his lips and he averted his eyes.

"I know, I still didn't really get to say I was sorry..." he trailed off, and hesitated, before putting his back to the woman and leaving the Chapel behind him.

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